


I Surrender, Dear

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: The last week of November always puts John in an early spirit of Christmas. For Sherlock, however, it's all Bah Humbug!





	I Surrender, Dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts), [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts).



> It's the most terrible time of the year according to Sherlock, until it's not.

Although a loyal subject of the British Empire, Queen, Country and all that, John Watson had always liked the idea of the American Thanksgiving. A holiday that exists solely for the purpose of being grateful for your blessings and eating seemed a splendid idea. 

If he HAD celebrated the previous Thursday, he would have given thanks for the life he now lead at Baker Street, solving crimes and, unexpectedly, truly enjoying the company of his genius flatmate. Sherlock had been unusually quiet the last few days since their last case which resulted in the capture of a serial strangler. Later John would regret thinking it would last.

Coming down dressed for his early shift at the clinic, John was surprised to find said formerly placid Sherlock flopping about on the sofa like a beached whale. Obviously not quite a full strop, but a near thing.

"Here then, what's all this about? No, wait, let me guess. BORED!!"

Huffing, Sherlock rolled over and glared at John. "Nooo. Well, yes, but NO. It's hateful, perfectly hateful!"

"Little help here mate. As usual,you're speeding along and I'm the slow bugger trying to keep up. What's hateful?"

"You are aware of the date are you not?"

"27 November. What of it?"

"Yes, and you know what that means."

Slightly exasperated now, John sighed. "Sorry not really. That tomorrow's the 28th?"

"Don't be slow, John. It means it's the last week of November."

"Brilliant deduction, what of it?"

"What of it?! That means Saturday it will be December."

"Glad you haven't deleted that, you git."

"There's nothing remotely humourous about it."

"Fine, enlighten me then. What's so tragic about December?"

Looking as if he had just sucked a lemon, Sherlock grumbled, "You'll be wanting the thing."

"The....thing. Ok, I know I'll be sorry for asking but, what thing?"

"The Christmas thing. You'll be asking me to bring that archaic turntable and vinyl record collection up from 221C, be hoping for a mountain of crumpets from Mrs.Hudson, and demanding we, Gawd, deck the halls. As if we can't exist without ribbons and tags, packages, boxes or bags. Then you'll be expecting me to play some idiotic holiday game like zoozittacarzay!"

"Zoozittacarzay? Have you been watching...?"

"Irrelevant, John. The fact is, I found the antics of last Christmas extremely trying, and I don't intend for them to be repeated. It seemed kindest to inform you of my decision before the dreaded month is upon us."

To this point, Sherlock had been too self absorbed to give John even a passing glance. Now that his lecture was complete, he waited for what he considered the only appropriate response.

"Well, thank you for telling me, Sherlock. I wasn't aware that last year was so distasteful for you. Since this is your flat, I understand that you have the final say. You have nothing to be concerned about, I won't mention the subject again. Sorry to dash, but, I've probably a queue forming at the clinic for flu jabs and I can't be late. See you later, maybe."

The door shut softly behind him leaving a rather stunned Sherlock, his lips parted in shock. This was NOT the reaction he had expected from his friend. Of course, he knew John would be displeased as he had a child's attachment to the sentimentality of Christmas, but Sherlock had been prepared for a row, not this weak submission. It was...troubling.

As the day wore on, Sherlock became more and more ill at ease. What had begun as his asserting his wishes in the strongest possible way, now had become a source of turmoil. Most disturbing was what he had seen in John's eyes. It wasn't anger or disgust, it was worse. He had seen hurt and disappointment. Sherlock Holmes could deal with an angry John Watson, but a hurt and disappointed one? That was a different problem entirely.

***~~~***~~~***

John had spent his morning too busy to dwell on the strange conversation with Sherlock. Besides, he couldn't afford to take his feelings out on those poor sods who were trusting him to "stab" them with a syringe. But by afternoon, he found he could think of nothing else. He really had not known how unhappy his holiday preparations had made Sherlock last year. It had been their first Christmas as flatmates and John had, evidently foolishly, thought it had been all fine. 

Well, there was nothing for it. When he got home he would apologize to Sherlock for having Christmas cheer, how strange was THAT a thing to regret, and do what he always did. Broker a treaty and restore the peace.

Pushing open the front door, John was surprised to find Mrs.Hudson waiting for him looking an odd mix of amused and annoyed. "What ever have you gotten him up to while you've been gone? It's been like living underneath a bloody tube station all day."

"Sorry, I don't understand."

"Not complaining, love, but he never exerts himself for anyone or anything except YOU, John Watson. Have you asked him to tear up the kitchen lino or rearrange the furniture? I thought my ceiling would come down one time."

"I honestly don't know. He was a bit full of himself before I left, but I certainly didn't ask him to do any renovations. I'll see what I can do."

"Ta, dearie. I'll bring up some baking later. All day I've had the oddest yearning for crumpets."

John squeezed her small shoulder gently and pulled himself up the seventeen stairs. Before going in, he listened. It seemed calm enough now, the silence almost ominous after Hudder's narrative. What he saw when he entered the flat was...

Sherlock was sat on the floor in the middle of the sitting room bedecked, or more accurately ensnared, in several long tangled strings of fairy lights. It was then that John remembered Sherlock's idea of helpfully putting things away last season involved making one huge ball of the previously separate strands of lights.

He was muttering to himself and literally jumped when John called out hello. "John you're back."

"Course I'm back. It's half five. WHAT are you doing?" John cringed anticipating the snarky reply.

"I would stand, John, but that appears inadvisable. Instead I would ask you to indulge me and simply listen." Sherlock used his limited reach to grab a small remote and press a button. John heard the unmistakable sound of his turntable whirring to life, a record dropping into place and the stylus seeking the first groove. Then came the voice of Bing Crosby, of all people.

** Pride, sad, splendid liar, sworn enemy of love  
Kept my lips from saying things I was thinking of.  
But now my pride you've humbled, I've cast it to the winds,  
Broken, beaten, sick at heart my confession begins.  
We've played the game of stay away but it cost more than I can pay.  
Without you I can't make my way, I surrender, dear.

Little mean things we were doing must have been part of the game,  
Lending a spice to the wooing, but I don't care who's to blame.  
When stars appear and shadows fall, why then you'll hear my poor heart call,  
To you my love, my life, my all, I surrender, dear. **

As the vintage record reached it's end, John raised his eyes to take in the chaos around him. Every surface was covered in layers of Christmas decorations waiting to be hung, wrapping paper and bows waiting for presents and even the "so ugly it was cute" stuffed Grinch doll that had been his gag gift from his co-workers last year when he had "forced" them to exchange Secret Santa gifts. It stood about 30 centimeters tall, was dressed in a Santa hat and coat, and was motion activated. When jostled, it played the Grinch song and "danced", jingling the small bells that were sewn onto the clothes. It had driven Sherlock mad and, frankly, John had thought Sherlock had burned it.

Momentarily frozen to the spot, John finally managed to squeak out, "What's going on, Sherlock?" It was then, to his alarm, that he noticed his friend looked ready to cry. Immediately he dropped to the floor beside Sherlock.

"It's for you, John, it's all for you. I was nasty and cruel this morning not giving a damn about what you might want or think. I just ordered you around like some employee off the street, and then when you said you might not come back..."

Now John WAS startled. "I never, Sherlock! I didn't say that, I wouldn't say that- ever."

"But you did. Your last words to me were, 'see you later, maybe.' You said it."

"Yeah, I said THAT, but I only meant I'd see you if you were here when I got home and not out creating havoc in greater London. I didn't mean I was leaving. Is that what all this is about? The holiday stuff, the music?"

"It was selfish of me and in all honesty I didn't really mind the baubles and merriment last year so much. It's just, I didn't...I don't...I can't let myself become attached to things that I may not have again."

John reached out and gently placed his strong, sturdy fingers under Sherlock's chin lifting his head and forcing them to make eye contact. "Do you mean it? The song lyrics, I mean. You're not the only one frightened of being attached to something you've wanted so badly if it's only going to be snatched away."

"With all my heart, John, I mean it. I DO surrender to whatever you are willing to give me. Although I can't imagine you're wanting to have to deal with the likes of me for long."

"That's for me to decide. I can always put you on the naughty list, that might sort you out, though I doubt it. How did you ever come by that particular record?"

"I knew you have eclectic tastes in music going back to the Stone Age. It only required me to search for the suitable lyrics. Hardly difficult." His cheeks and neck blushing, Sherlock added, "You approve?"

Without a word John leaned forward and kissed the lips he had been dreaming of for so long. It was tender, sweet and...hilarious. Being caught off balance, Sherlock fell back, his arm grazing the table beside him and his elbow landing on the power strip plugged into the wall.

At once, the Grinch began to "jingle bell jive" while the fairy lights wrapped around Sherlock sprang to life. John couldn't even bring himself to ask if Sherlock had bruised any important bits. He dissolved in a fit of giggles that soon had Sherlock reluctantly joining in.

"John Hamish Watson, I will not tolerate this disaster being remembered as our first kiss. I demand a do over."

"Oh no, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you can have all the kisses you want for the rest of our lives, but this one stays as our first."

"But John..."

"Nope! How many blokes can say the first kiss they give their boyfriend lights him up like a Christmas tree, never mind making the Grinch jig. That's a memory I'm never going to forget. Oh, what have we here?"

John reached around Sherlock and emerged wearing the "reindeer antlers" Hudders had placed on Sherlock's head last year and declared adorable.

"You look ridiculous, John. What are you meant to be?"

"Only getting in the Christmas spirit, love. I'm the tenth reindeer."

"The tenth reindeer? There are only eight, well nine if you include that red nosed one. There is no tenth reindeer."

"Yet here I am."

"Fine if it pleases you", he said with a shy smile, "what do I call you then?"

"I'm Horny the Well-Hung Reindeer. But I'll let you open a Christmas package early and you can discover for yourself."

Sherlock lunged forward for another kiss singing, "Fa la la la la, la la la la."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for surrendering to my story, hope you enjoyed.
> 
> * A dozen of Hudders Christmas biscuits to those who find the three not too subtle references to our favorite green guy, The Grinch.
> 
> ** I Surrender, Dear by Bing Crosby, 1931
> 
> Kudos and comments are like candy in my Christmas stocking.


End file.
